Moment of Truth
by Wyndi
Summary: Matt thinks he can match wits with the Undertaker only to be proven very, very wrong. The primary lesson learned: "Taker always gets his way." Oh, and "Never mess with a man’s bike."


Content: Mature situations, m/m slash, language, non-con sexual situations, mild violence, angst.  
  
Characters: Undertaker (Mark Callaway) / Matt Hardy  
  
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, federation, promotion, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. All lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.  
  
* * *  
  
Fear has a very unmistakable flavor. It's a harsh, acidic taste, like medicine. A bitter liquid that someone's decided is good for you, so you have to endure it. But you can't hold back a shudder as it burns a path down your throat to settle in your stomach and fester. It eats away at you after awhile, slowly making you crazy. You pace restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position anywhere. Every sense is on hyper-alert and you begin to hear and see stuff that maybe isn't really there. Even your brain hurts, trying to figure out how in the hell you ended up here, what you did that was so bad that he felt the need to try to break you, physically and emotionally.  
  
I will not give in.  
  
* * *  
  
"Steer clear of him, Matt. He's not quite right in the head."  
  
Well, color me shocked. How many of us really ARE right in the head? It takes a certain kind of unbalanced mind to wanna put your body through this kind of hell night after night. But I'm not afraid. He's just another overly intense veteran who thinks he runs the show. It'll take a lot more than that to make me shiver in my boots.  
  
"Matt, don't try and pull one of your ribs on Mark. He doesn't react well to pranks."  
  
Well, I don't react well to self-proclaimed bad asses trying to push me around. Sorry, but even though he's older than dirt and has been with the company for decades, I'm still not gonna let him try to bully me into being some kinda plaything for him.  
  
Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?  
  
"I hope you've got your will made out, Matt. You should've known not to touch his bike. Were you just daring him to react?"  
  
Well, maybe I was, in a weird kinda way. I'd had about enough of his innuendoes and not so subtle hints. I told him I wasn't interested. Now I guess he'll know I'm serious. When I say 'no' I mean 'no.' It's about time somebody put him in his place.  
  
His place is apparently straddling my prone body as I lie dazed and bleeding on the pavement. I never even saw him coming. Just... *CRACK* A searing pain in the back of my head, stars, and then blackness.  
  
Guess I kinda underestimated him, huh?  
  
Now I have no idea where I am. Some small, dark room, almost like a cell. No windows, no air vents, just a big locked door in front of me with a peephole I can't see through. All I know is I'm cold, my head hurts, and I am very much afraid now. I don't know how long I've been here but it can't have been too long. I don't even have a five o'clock shadow yet, so it can't have been more than a few hours.  
  
Oh, I suppose I could do what's probably expected and scream and yell. That'd probably bring him around, knowing I was finally conscious. But I honestly don't know if I wanna be in the same room with him, now that we're both far away from prying eyes. He could do whatever his sick mind thought up and I'd have no choice but to take it. Maybe if I come across as really pathetic, he'll have pity on me and let me go.  
  
"Hello? Mr. Callaway, Sir? I was wondering if you might let me out to go to the bathroom."  
  
The 'Sir' was a nice touch, I think. That oughta work. He'll hear me, come down, see how miserable and sorry I am, think he's taught me whatever lesson he has in mind, and let me outta here.  
  
Right?  
  
* * *  
  
What a fuckin' pussy. He ain't been in there but a few hours and he's already beggin' for attention. He'll get all the attention he wants and then some before I'm done with him.  
  
"You gotta take a piss or somethin'? Yeah? Well, you can just go in the corner. Don't you sass me, boy. Do I SOUND like I'm fuckin' kiddin'?"  
  
This is gonna be hard on him, I can tell. This first show of obedience. From the way he's yellin' and cussin' he probably thinks I've already moved away from the door. But I can still see him through the peephole. It'd be real interesting to see if he can actually manage to take a leak, scared as he is.  
  
It's a hell of a rush, watchin' him slink off to the corner like he's tryin' to hide from shadows. I can tell from here that his hands are shaking bad. Well, wonders never cease. Guess the kid really DID have to go. Now he can just sit in there and smell his own piss for a few more hours. Once he's good and scared, then I'll let him out to play.  
  
I can feel myself getting' hard just listening to his whimpers and sighs. He's really got no idea what he's in for. He'd had plenty of warnings, though. 'Don't fuck with Callaway.' Lucky for me he didn't listen too good. Breakin' down his defenses is gonna be an adventure, that's for fuckin' sure.   
  
Just a little bit longer. Then I'll open the door and let the fun begin.   
  
Jesus fuckin' Christ, he couldn't even last one hour without cryin' like a little baby. 'Course, it don't help him none that there ain't no air circulation in there. The smell must be really bad. Maybe I should show a little pity, let him out early. Nah. The whole point of this little session is to be as merciless as possible. This is one lesson he'll only have to be taught once, I think.   
  
That's assuming he survives.   
  
* * *  
  
Why the hell didn't I listen to the warnings? Why'd I think I could possibly come out ahead here? He's just taking his time, probably. Waiting for the right time to come waltzing in here and do… whatever it is he wants to do with me. And I'll have to agree to it, no matter what it is. It's the only way to get outta here alive, I think. I just can't let him see me cry. That's the one thing I can't ever do. 'Cause then he'll know he's really gotten to me.  
  
I almost wish he'd show up, even though I know he's just gonna find something even more degrading and horrible to put me through. Hell, he can even rough me up a little if it's what gets him off. Nothing can be worse than having to sit in this… this cell. Having to smell my own waste. Freezing my butt off. Wondering what he has in store for me.  
  
He's gotta let me out, he's just gotta! It reeks in here, I need to get away from this smell, this room before I go nuts. I swore to myself I wouldn't scream, wouldn't cry, wouldn't give him any kinda satisfaction. But I didn't reckon on just how bad it was gonna be. My throat is already raw from shouting and yelling and I don't even know if he can hear my hoarse cries anymore. Maybe he's not even there at all, gone far away on that blasted motorcycle of his.   
  
I'll do whatever he wants, I swear! Just so long as he lets me out.  
  
* * *  
  
Well, that didn't take long at all. Little bastard didn't put up much of a fight before he started beggin' nice an' sweet. He's already ruined his voice with all his yellin'. Good thing it's not his witty conversation I'm after. There's much better things my little plaything can do with his mouth than waste it talkin' to me.  
  
"Are you ready to be a good boy, Matthew? You ready to do what I tell you to do without arguin' with me or talkin' back? Good boy. You can come out now, but you gotta come out good and proper. Did I say walk out? No, I didn't think so. Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about..."  
  
Now, that IS a pretty sight. Down on all fours, just where he belongs. Where I've pictured him since he first came to work for the company. It's almost enough to break a man's heart, how pretty he is like this.  
  
"Here's how this is gonna work, boy. You're gonna do exactly what I say, when I say it, with no argument. If I'm pleased, then you'll be outta here in a few hours. If not, I'll keep ya here as long as I like, do whatever I want, and maybe you'll get to leave. Then again, maybe you won't be able to."  
  
Well, he's not as stupid as I originally thought. He's takin' it all in, weighin' his options, and realizin' that he ain't got much choice at all. Good boy. There may just be hope for him yet. Time to test his decision.  
  
"Follow me. Just as you are. You don't walk upright until I tell you that you can. We're gonna go somewhere I can get nice and comfortable and then you can prove to me how serious you are about doing as you're told."  
  
Oh, he don't like the sound of that. Not one little bit. He knows what's gonna be expected of him, that's for damn sure. And it's gonna fuckin' kill him to do this, but he ain't got no choice. No choice at all. And if he's even the tiniest bit hesitant, he's got that long, pretty hair to hold onto, so he knows he ain't goin' anywhere until I'm good and finished with him.  
  
* * *  
  
Oh my God. He expects me to... But I've never... And he's a man. A really BIG man... Jesus, what did I get myself into here? I'd rather die than suffer this kind of humiliation! But what other choice do I have? He's not gonna let me go until I do this disgusting thing for him. I may as well resign myself to it. It's gotta happen. Maybe if I were to 'accidentally' bite down or something... No, that's not such a good idea. He could probably kill me with one well-placed blow to the back of the head. Other options?  
  
There are none.  
  
Okay, I gotta get in the right frame of mind for this. How do I like it when I'm the one getting the blow job? Okay, undo the belt, unbutton the jeans, and unzip them slowly. VERY slowly. I don't know if he's commando or not and if he is, I don't wanna cause any unnecessary damage. Okay, a little pressure on his hips to get him to lift up enough for me to tug the denim down. This isn't so bad. Undressing a person is no big deal. I could be doing this for some old geezer in a nursing home. Wait, I don't wanna go thinking along those lines, considering what I gotta do next.  
  
Gently dip my hand inside, lift his sizable… His VERY sizable… Hell, this is gonna be a lot harder than I thought. Grit your teeth, just do it. You don't wanna know what the alternative is. Lift him out, give the shaft a few firm strokes, just the way you'd like it if you were on the receiving end. Okay, I guess that's as ready as he's gonna get. I'd sure hate to think it could get any bigger than this.  
  
I can't believe I'm gonna do this.  
  
* * *  
  
I can see him hesitating, like he thinks I'm gonna grant him a last-minute reprieve or some shit. Too fuckin' bad. It ain't gonna happen. A little pressure on the back of his head'll remind him of what he's supposed to be doin' down there. Jesus, I know I ain't small or nothin', but he's lookin' at it like it's some kinda monster or something, just waitin' to bite him.   
  
A man could lose his mind watchin' him run his tongue out across his lips, like he's getting' ready to have his first kiss. I guess he kinda is, in a way. I think I'll just grab ahold of his hair right now, before he gets any further. Just so he knows I'm deadly serious about this. Man, his hair is so fuckin' soft, and it looks so pretty wrapped around my fist. A little tug and he knows I won't tolerate anymore stalling on his part.  
  
His little pink tongue darts out and just barely grazes me. Such a fuckin' tease. And he does it again. Time to put that pretty hair of his to use. "None of that, boy."  
  
He can go on whimpering and that'd suit me just fine. Just none of that feather-light touchin' shit. One more firm tug and he gets down to the business at hand. He oughta feel honored that I'm his first. Things coulda been a whole hell of a lot worse. He coulda pissed off Helmsley. Instead, by a lucky twist of fate, I'm the one gets to break him in right and sound.  
  
* * *  
  
Moment of truth. He means business and I'd better get a move on. I'll just swirl my tongue around the head a few times, make a few awkward attempts to lick up and down the shaft. Maybe he'll get bored because I don't know what I'm doing and let me go.  
  
Or maybe he'll just yank my hair again and force me to take him all the way into my mouth. Ya know? This wouldn't be so bad if I weren't so aware of the texture of his skin. How it's all velvety and soft. Wait a minute. Why the hell am I thinking about things like this? I'm supposed to be pissed at him. I'm supposed to be hating him. I am NOT supposed to be thinking about his musky smell and the slightly salty tang of him in the back of my throat.  
  
Jesus, could this get any worse? Do I lie to myself and say some part of me, however small, isn't enjoying this? Oh, what the hell. It's not like there's anyone around to see this. May as well enjoy what I can of this, right? I'll just reach up and fondle his balls, roll them around in the palm of my hand.  
  
Hmm, I guess he likes what I'm doing, he's sure groaning loud enough. His hand in my hair isn't uncomfortable anymore, now that he's not pulling and tugging. It's almost like he enjoys the feel of me in his hand, the way I'm starting to like the feel of him in my mouth. As I bob up and down on him faster and faster, his sounds get better and more interesting. This is kind of a rush for me, in a strange and weird kinda way. I wonder if he'll give me any kind of warning before he…  
  
I guess not.  
  
* * *  
  
Good fuckin' God, the kid's got a hell of a mouth on him, don't he? For someone who ain't never done nothin' like this before, he sure caught on awful fuckin' quick. Of course, he couldn't be enjoyin' any of it, right? He just don't seem the type. I sure didn't intend for him to enjoy the whole experience. But what if I'm wrong?  
  
What happened to my firm resolve? My need to make him hurt, to totally humiliate him? This night was supposed to be all about me makin' him pay. Instead I shoot my load entirely too soon and find myself wantin' to do nothin' more to him than draw him into my arms, smooth his pretty hair down, and tell him what a good boy he is.  
  
And even if I were to do something so totally uncharacteristic as to be all affectionate when I'm supposed to be makin' him sorry, who's to say he'd welcome it or even reciprocate? It's not that I'm afraid of rejection or nothin'. I just never thought I'd ever find someone who actually affected me this strong.  
  
I set out to fuck this little boy's world up, but truth be told, I'm the one who's been totally thrown off-guard.  
  
That's some shit, ain't it? 


End file.
